


my future yesterday

by stilljunhui (acyria)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Songfic, download my i, i get Dramatic wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-04 08:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acyria/pseuds/stilljunhui
Summary: "If there’s two earthsIt could be a different me too"- MY I (JUN X THE8)





	my future yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely inspired by Chinaline's duet, MY I. It's a soulmate song don't fight me on this. Also inspired by Seventeen's Don't Wanna Cry MV.
> 
> Lyrics taken from the song are italicized.

Click [here](http://www.kpopviral.com/lyrics/seventeen-my-i-lyrics-english-romanized-translation.html) to see the English translation for the song.

* * *

_/ Different, different, different. /_

In his dreams, he's always running. 

Junhui looks back once or twice sometimes, as if to see what exactly is he running away from; white, always white, so bright and so empty that it makes him look away. He can feel the sand beneath his bare feet even without looking down. Around him are mirrors, each featuring him,  but also not quite. He knows it's him— his eyes, the point of his nose, and the curve of his lips— but there always something different. A different hairstyle, eye colour, skin that was sometimes tan and sometimes pale. 

He keeps running anyway, never stopping to wonder at his reflections even if he wants to. He runs. Forward, faster, wherever his legs would take him. He thinks his legs should ache by now, that he should stop, but it doesn’t and he just keeps going. When he looks in front of him, he sees nothing but fog. Everything before him is unsure.

He runs towards it nonetheless. 

The dark grey mist surrounding his path inches away with each step he takes. 

If he squints, he thinks there might be somebody in the fog. Waiting. Watching. A human figure shrouded at the very end of his course. He knows this time it isn't himself standing there, for some reason. There's a tug at his heart that reminds him of something he once knew. There's an ache of longing. No matter how fast he runs and how close he seems to get though, nothing changes. Whoever is in the fog remains far away. There is a name and a face that escapes him. 

Junhui keeps running. 

(When he wakes up, things are the same. It's the 32nd time he's had the same dream— he's sure of it, he keeps track, although he only started doing so after the 5th time. He's 20 years old now, bordering on 21, with dark eyes and even darker hair. His skin is golden, the result of years spent under the sun. It's the only combination he hasn't seen reflected back at him. The dream is so familiar by now that it feels more like a memory; a moment in his life he keeps tucked away for safekeeping, but without knowing why. 

 _China is a nice place_ , he thinks, _but South Korea sounds wonderful_.) 

  
_/ Tell me about it. /_

In Minghao's dreams, he never moves. He's stuck in a vast expanse of blue. He has all the time in the world to wonder what kind of blue he sees; is it the blue of the morning sky, void of the sun and clouds? Is it the colour of a deep blue sea, endless before him? Is it the blue of eyes he knows aren't his, but can't seem to tell who they belong to either way? Eyes that change colour, unlike his surroundings. Blue, brown, sometimes green, sometimes grey. Bright, beautiful, familiar.

Does it belong to the boy he sees running away? 

He doesn't have to ask, really. Minghao knows it's him— whoever he is, whatever he's supposed to be— even with his back turned away from him, showing nothing but dark hair, white clothes, and bare feet. In every dream, he tries to run after the boy. In every dream, he never seems to move even if he knows he's taking a step forward. The same endless blue and the same running boy, far far away. 

He calls out, sometimes. 

He doesn't know the name that escapes his lips but he feels them move, tongue curling around syllables and letters as if he knows them by heart. 

Once, twice, the boy stops. 

He turns around; Minghao knows he does, knows he sees more than just dark hair. He sees a face he forgets once he wakes up no matter how hard he tries to remember, dark eyes that make his stomach flutter and heart beat wildly in his chest, and a smile. He knows he sees a smile, the way it lights up his whole face, the way it radiates happiness. Still, it stays far away, too far from his reach. He can't do anything about it.  

(He hates waking up after that dream, mainly because he hates forgetting the face he sees over and over again. Dark hair, dark eyes, much like himself. Maybe he never sees it at all. Maybe it's just what he feels that he experiences and nothing else. Still, it's frustrating, but at least he doesn't have the same dream every night. Just often. A bit too often. Not the type of dream boys at the ripe age of 19 should be having. 

He remembers the smile, though. 

Bright, beautiful, familiar.) 

  
_/ You reach out to save me. /_

One night, things change.

(One night, things change.)

Junhui starts his dream standing still. 

(Minghao starts his dream running.)

Junhui stands still among flowers, different kinds and different colours. They blossom around him amidst dark, green leaves. There are no mirrors, no reflections, no sand under his feet, but there was still a pathway leading to somewhere he didn't know. One thing that remained the same would be the fog before him and what was inside of it. Someone was still there, no longer watching, no longer waiting. Running. 

He takes a step forward.

(Minghao is running on sand. Barefoot. He's aware enough in his dream to be annoyed by the gritty pieces sticking to his feet, but it doesn't stop him from running. It feels great, honestly, to finally be doing something in his dream. He should be getting somewhere, should be running towards something, someone. His surroundings were no longer blue. He doesn't see the boy in front of him. Rather, the path before him was covered with vines and thorns that part with each step forward, leading him somewhere. 

Leading him to that bright smile.)

Flowers emerge from the fog. Junhui takes another step, and another, and another. Thorns begin to grow on the flowers, their thin stems twirling to form thick vines with sharp points. It takes him a second too late to realize they were moving towards him even when he doesn't take a step forward. They move even when he takes a step back. 

(He's tired of running now. Minghao wants to stop, but his legs keep going. If anything, the thorns on the vines were slowly disappearing. He doesn't know how far he's gone before the thorns slowly turned into flowers, colorful ones, some of them reminding him of the blue he used to see. Still, the flowers aren't what he's looking for. He runs, and runs, and runs. Finally, the last of the vines seem to disappear.)

He sees him. 

(He sees him.) 

Dark hair, dark eyes. 

(Dark hair, dark eyes.) 

Junhui's frozen. 

(Minghao reaches a hand out.) 

He takes it, anyway. 

(Familiar.) 

The thorns disappear.

(The butterflies return.) 

It's him. 

(It's always been him.) 

_  
/ I’ll know (You were my future). /_

Junhui likes Seoul. He likes the sights and the sounds and the smell of the food on the streets. He likes the people. He has yet to properly get used to speaking the language, but he's slowly getting there. It's one thing to keep track of the way words are said and another to control the speed in which he says things. He's always been told he talks too quickly. Like his words are running out of his mouth before his lips could keep up. 

It's ironic, if anything. 

He also likes Seoul because it was there that his recurring dream stopped, sometime during his 3rd month there; no more sand, mirrors, and endless running. No more mysterious fog. Junhui's not sad about it at all, even though he sometimes wishes it could have reached a total of 50 times instead of just 49, just one more night to make it a complete number. 

He's not sad because the end of the dream cycle was the start of the memories. 

Minghao. 

He says the name every night before he sleeps like a prayer and keeps it close to his heart when he wakes. He hasn't met him— not in this lifetime, not yet— but he knows he will. He has to. They were soulmates, after all, and even centuries of not being born in the same timeline can't change that. Junhui knows he's finally in this one, that they were finally going to be together again. He doesn't know why, but he's just so sure. Maybe it was thanks to the dreams.

He knows, now, that the figure beyond the haze was Minghao. It was Minghao who gripped his hand and pulled him out of the cage of thorns, fingers encasing his own protectively. The boy was younger— always has been younger, at least by a year— and he was beautiful. Junhui has been with him as a painter in the royal palace, has been with him as a warrior for the emperor, has been with him as a prince who thirsts for blood; he’ll be with him again, this time, as normal boys with too much time in their hands to get to know each other.

He gets distracted by it a lot. 

So much that he finds himself tripping in the middle of the streets of Seoul. 

“Hey, be careful." 

  
_/ I’ll know (I was your yesterday). /_

Minghao's first course of action after helping the fallen boy up from the street was to glare at him. 

"About time," he says with a scowl. 

Ever since the dreams stopped and everything else came rushing back in, he has felt a mix of emotions. If anything, all that has happened had managed to make him more impatient than excited. Centuries of being parted from his soulmate made him both happy that they're finally, finally meeting again and also incredibly annoyed because Minghao had been reborn time and time again in a world without Junhui. Where had he been? What took him so long? 

Junhui, of course, just takes one look at him before the smiles erupts on his face. It turns into laughter soon enough, light and boyish, and Minghao feels a tug on his arm as the other boy pulls him close. He still hugs the same way, with one arm around his shoulders and another around his waist, still hugs as if he never wants to let go. As Minghao gets enveloped in the hug, he falls face first into the taller boy’s chest.

He still smells the same, too. 

Minghao wills the butterflies away this time because he’s still annoyed, really. 

“I’ve missed you,” Junhui whispers into his ear. 

Minghao huffs, pulling away from the hug enough that he could speak clearly, “whose fault is that? Don’t just smile at me, Wen Junhui, do you know long it took you this time? Years, I don’t even want to count— you’re still smiling. Stop that.”

The dark haired boy stops smiling. Good. His eyes still are, though. 

“My love,” he says instead when their eyes meet again. 

Well, Minghao would be lying to himself if he continues to say he’s still annoyed. He fights the blush by putting on another scowl instead, telling himself to look away from those deep, dark eyes but finds that he couldn’t. He holds the scowl for a few seconds before it breaks into a sigh, his head falling onto Junhui’s chest once again as he mutters the two words as if he has been saying it his whole life.

“My love.”

He knows he has.

_/ My I. /_

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work and would like to support me, please consider buying me coffee! https://ko-fi.com/stilljunhui


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